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| Beautiful old pioneer cabin, my favorite front porch in Silver Dollar City. |
We've noticed that when you knock on a neighbor's door in the South, they pull you right inside, like it or not. Last night I tapped on the neighbor's back door well past dark, and even though they were all in their pajamas unwinding for the evening, they grabbed my hand and pulled me in the door, plopped me down in a chair, and asked what I wanted to drink. This has been the norm without exception. If you know someone well enough to knock on their door, you're welcomed like family. My husband and I have remarked that it doesn't matter if people are in the middle of something, or if their hair is brushed or their house is all tidy, you're still welcome. The minute the door opens, you're asked to come in. I've even had neighbors tell me to come sit on the edge of their master bed while they finish sorting socks! Such a familial activity, I felt like I was at my sister's house and it was delightful.
We had a neighbor from Texas for a while in our favorite little cul-de-sac in Arizona, and he would always insist that we come in. He heard the doorbell from the pool in his backyard one day, sprinted through the house in his dripping swimsuit and towel, and immediately asked me to come on in. Travis from Texas and his sweet wife always had the welcome sign hanging.
It makes me feel guilty for all the years I've spent standing in my doorway chatting with friends while we sweltered in the Arizona heat because the floors weren't swept, or I had a few plates stacked by the sink, or I hadn't showered after my class at the gym. Even if I knew someone was going to stop by, I'd ask them to text me first!
When in Rome, do like the Romans, so I'm trying the hospitality thing out, tentatively. I want my neighbors to feel embraced, and even if I have bed-head and my T-shirt is on backwards I'll try to welcome visitors with grace, southern style. Come on in, y'all!
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